In this Mexican neighborhood, locals say ¡Viva el Beetle!
Rusted and stripped of their right seats, the cars parked in rows on street corners serve as the unofficial taxi in the hillside neighborhoods of Cuautepec in Mexico’s capital. The round symbol of the 1960s hippie era is admired — even decorated and named — by residents who say the car represents their resilience and work ethic.
They can be seen everywhere in Mexico City, but they swarm the lively streets of Cuautepec, where you can hear Beetles climbing steep hills, passing residents relaxing on their roofs and dogs keeping watch on balconies.
One of Cuautepec’s many mechanics is usually just a few blocks away. The smell of car exhaust fills the streets as yellow, green, red and purple beetles buzz past each other at intersections.
“It’s not a standard car like all the others,” said Yolanda Ocampo, 45, as she admired her graying 1982 Beetle parked outside the pharmacy where she works. The brake pedal may be stiff, but owning the Beetle means ‘your car is tough’.
“We love the Vochos so much,” she added.
There are competing theories about the car’s beloved nickname, ‘Vocho’. Some say it is derived from the Spanish word for bug, ‘bicho’, and is a combination of the first two letters of Volkswagen. Others say it’s just a shortened hose version of Volkswagen.
Although the German Classic Beetle was officially discontinued in 2003, the classic Beetle has long been a source of pride for Mexico, and Cuautepec in particular. Originally designed for Adolf Hitler in the 1930s, Volkswagen sold hundreds of thousands of Beetles in the 1960s as the car became an emblem of the anti-establishment counterculture.
Ultimately, Volkswagen stopped importing to the United States when it could not keep up with crash tests and emissions standards. The company began to outsource production to other countries. In 1964, it opened a factory in Puebla, Mexico, where it produced Beetles until 2003, and continued to build the sleeker New Beetles until 2019, when Volkswagen completely ended the bug’s reign.
In Cuautepec, most of the cars on the road are still classic models.
“The good ones are the old ones,” says Eduardo Jiménez León, whose son gifted him a Beetle previously used as a taxi.
For residents like Mr. Jiménez León, 73, the Vocho’s popularity is a matter of practicality. The Beetle’s engine is located in the rear instead of the front, making it easier to climb the steep hills of Cuautepec. The cars marked with green and white paint are still used as unofficial taxis in the area. Many visitors who choose to take a gondola lift to the top of the city’s northern hills opt to ride back down in a Vocho for a more retro transportation.
“They say it even runs on the pure smell of gasoline,” said Uriel Mondragón, a local mechanic who said 40 percent of his customers own a Beetle. “It’s not like a new car. This car won’t run out of gas.”
For others, owning a Beetle is more about what the car represents.
In Cuautpec, the car has connected generations of families, often passed down from parent to child.
“Our beloved Vocho has become part of Mexican folklore thanks to its unique personality, quality and reliability,” Álea M. Lozada, Volkswagen spokeswoman in Mexico, said in a statement. “It is an honor to be the last factory where this iconic model was assembled.”
Every Beetle in the neighborhood has its own personality and name; owners place their car’s name at the top of the windshield or on the side. On a recent trip to Cuautepec, a beetle named Ashley. Miranda chugged along a few blocks away. Another had “New York” spray-painted on the side.
Custom designs and decorations are also coveted in the Vocho community.
A taxi driver drove a Vocho with counterfeit $100,000 bills taped to one side. Another had a Scooby-Doo doll installed on his trunk. Stars adorned the windshield of another Beetle.
Ms Ocampo said she would rather drive her Beetle than her brand new SEAT Ibiza car, a supermini. For her, owning a Vocho is a way to push back on the gender stereotypes that existed in her home growing up. She often heard men in Cuautepec wonder whether women could handle the Beetle.
“How is it possible for a woman to drive a Volkswagen because of the heavy steering wheel?” Ms. Ocampo recalled people asking for it. But now: “If there is a Volkswagen, they aren’t surprised, are they? So the truth is that I am proud to drive a Volkswagen.”
But since the Beetle is no longer in production, it can be difficult to find the right parts when repairs are needed.
As a result, the cars are often made up of mismatched colored parts. One Beetle might have a green hood, a blue passenger door and a yellow trunk: signs of past repair work and an attempt to blend in with the lively houses in the neighborhood.
Beetlemania is not limited to the Vocholandia district.
Berenzain Amaya, a tattoo artist at Octattoo Studio in another part of Mexico City, says he has inked the car on at least 10 die-hard Vocho fans.
“It’s hard to explain because when you come from another country and see this German car, it’s a bit weird, but I think Mexico is a weird place,” Mr. Amaya said. “There are many things that are not so common in other countries. This is part of the culture.”
The cars have been part of Mario Gamboa’s family for decades. With his brother Alejandro, Mr. Gamboa, 45, runs a repair shop in Mexico City, Grillos Racing, which primarily serves Beetle owners. But Mr. Gamboa and his brother also outfit the cars with more powerful engines and shiny new exteriors for city drag racing events.
It was a family tradition started by their parents, who were still racing Beetles in their mid-60s.
The family owns a total of 15 beetles. Mr Gamboa himself owns seven. On a recent afternoon, the brothers said they were getting ready to show off the best of the best Beetles at a car show.
He has been attached to the Beetle since he was a child.
“All the people in Mexico learn to drive in a Volkswagen,” Mr. Gamboa said. “All families have a Volkswagen. If you don’t have a Volkswagen, then maybe your uncle or your cousin or your grandmother does.”